Light
by Zero.Elektronik
Summary: Bright lights, pretty faces, laughing and shouting all blurred into one. Slash. Greg/Mole.


**Done for the 100 theme challenge.**

**Warning: Slash**

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* * *

**Gregory vaguely remembered what happened last night.

He remembered lights. Bright, bright lights flashing on and off, disappearing, spinning, making him so dizzy that everything eventually blurred into one large, beautiful mess of multicoloured lights. It was pure ecstasy, pretty colours shining around him, but it started to burn at his bright, pretty blue eyes, but he couldn't quite stop looking (though it was making him feel dizzy, and so sick). He vaguely remembered glitter and glow in the dark liquid on his smart, orange shirt (he'd paid a lot of money for this to get ruined - he couldn't bring himself to care), and sticking in his short, swept back blonde locks until they too, shone in the lights and glitter. He was laughing, he couldn't remember what at, mind you, the metallic sound of coins, the screams and laughs of drunken teenagers. The faces of the people he'd been out with blurred, faces with dark eyes, and a cigarette end glowing like the lights around him, all melting into one blank, blurred mess.

Bits and pieces. Flashes, the memories that won't fit together properly. Like a film with scenes that have been skipped, fast forwarded, and taken out inside his intellectual mind. He's aching now, all over his body (every square inch). It takes him a good while to move around in…whatever he's lying on, a sofa? A bed? The floor? He's not too sure and his head is too cloudy to perceive anything in the state he's in. This is one hell of a hangover, he thinks to himself. Opening his eyes was a bad idea too, he realised, it was too bright (like the lights which were burnt into his memories from last night). It must be the brightest day in a while, he thinks. He squints his eyes and shields them with his delicate hands from the sunlight shining through the window. He manages to sit up, hands shaking as he tries to prop himself up, trying to look at his surroundings, but his head hurts too much to keep his eyes open (though he's noticed he's on a bed now). It hurts like a bitch.

* * *

It's frustrating that he can't remember what happened. He's not used to this kind of life, the blurred nights. He never has nights that he can't remember (apart from the previous one), because Gregory has more class than that, he tells himself. He may do bad things (like accept illegal jobs, and take on responsibilities for peoples deaths), but he's polite and well mannered, he drinks fine wine occasionally and responsibly because getting completely wasted is what common, uneducated folk do, right (or so his parents would tell him this)? He never has these horrible, drunken and forgotten nights (apart from last night).

It takes a while for him to feel the heat off a body that's lying next to him. He looks over to it, groggily with his clouded vision and he can see the dark mess of hair lying on the pillow, dark eyes glancing up at him momentarily before shutting themselves, a groan escaping from its lips. This body too, sits up, leaning against the headstand. Gregory's momentarily breathless and he feels lips on his shoulders, strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him back to lie against him (his skin is warm and tanned, bruises on his arms and chest). The person speaks - he can't quite make out what he's saying, but it certainly isn't English (It sounds pretty though, maybe French). And then he starts to remember, rushing to him like a beautiful collision.

He remembers that they had money, so much money - from their previous job (though he can't remember what that was) - and the body lying behind him, his best friend (A mercenary whose name was Christophe), decided they should take a break, run off for a short time and have fun. Leaving South Park behind for a month and heading to a city full of bright, bright lights (somewhere in California…where as it, Los Angeles, Vegas?). He remembered the hesitation and the final agreement to go along with that plan, and the smile his friend gave him - pleased and mischievous. He tasted what it was like to do something unprofessional, inelegant. He enjoyed it. And here, wherever they are (he still hasn't remembered), he is free to do that without getting the dirty, disappointed looks from his high-class parents. He shifts, uncomfortably turning round (His body is so sore, there's bruises all over his pale skin) and straddling the person with him.

* * *

Now he's the dominating one. He grins leaning to kiss his lips, and tastes the familiar smell of smoke and moving the hands around him and pinning them down. From now on, he's going to control what happens (instead of accepting all the shit he gets from parents, friends, co-workers), he'll let the Frenchman fuck him when Gregory wants it, instead of giving into him whenever Christophe's horny. He grins as he remembers more of last night.

"_Bonjour, Gregory. Pouvez-vous fonctionner correctement après la nuit dernière?_" The voice is husky, gravely and deep. The dark eyes looking up at him lustfully.

"Good Morning, Christophe." He smiles, kissing him chastely (he had no idea what the rest of that sentence meant), thrusting his hips against the mercenary's and feeling proud when the broken, moan came from his lips. Gregory's free to do what he wants now (He'll lessen his attitude once he gets home, but he's not taking his parent's crap anymore), doing what he wants when he wants with his best friend. He squints and looks out the window trying to distinguish the scenery - Large buildings, The Eiffel tower, pyramids and roller coasters - The Las Vegas strip. This was all Christophe's idea, he remembers, ending up in some casino bar (_Just one more drink, mon cher, eet won't 'urt you!_), his idea to just drink one more, then another, then another.

The bright light that's burned into his mind, the joy of being free and reckless for only a short while, even though he can't see because of how bright it is, it's not going to stop him looking.

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**Translation: Bonjour, Gregory. Pouvez-vous fonctionner correctement après la nuit dernière? = Good morning, Gregory. Are you able to function properly after last night?**


End file.
